


Love will break the chains

by hellcsweetie



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, takes place immediately after the end of 8x16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 15:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20726726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellcsweetie/pseuds/hellcsweetie
Summary: Harvey wakes up to Donna sitting up next to him, her naked back partially covered by strands of her copper hair. He reaches forward and caresses her soft skin, traces the protruding line of her spine with his index finger. Last night feels far away.





	Love will break the chains

Harvey wakes up to Donna sitting up next to him, her naked back partially covered by strands of her copper hair. He reaches forward and caresses her soft skin, traces the protruding line of her spine with his index finger. Last night feels far away. He’s all warm and fuzzy. 

Gratitude burns within him, for her willingness to wait for him, for her patience in showing him the way, for her wisdom in finding in his eyes everything his breath forgot how to say as soon as he saw her. Because the Earth stopped when she opened the door. His racing heart, his pounding head, his feet that ran in spite of him, they all rested when his eyes fell upon her face. Her beautiful hair, the subtle smirk that stretched her lips, the shadows from her apartment slowly engulfing her figure as she walked backwards and beckoned him forward. 

She looks at him over her shoulder with a shy smile. Her face is slightly flushed, a pink blush up her neck, lips still reddened. Her eyelashes are light from the lack of makeup, making her eyes seem darker by contrast. 

“Hey,” he greets with a lazy smile. “Hey,” she answers quietly, hugging the sheets closer to her chest. “Did you sleep well?” he asks, tapping lightly each freckle in a constellation on her shoulder blade. She nods girlishly and touches her chin to her shoulder in a lazy stretch. 

“Your bed’s comfortable,” he comments, tugging on the sheet currently covering her. “What can I say?” she starts to lean back towards him, landing sideways on her elbow, “I’m very picky about mattresses.” “And about who sleeps on them?” he teases, eyebrow shooting up. “I think current evidence shows I’m considerably less so about that,” she narrows her eyes playfully. He chuckles, pulling her in, revelling in the way she smiles right into his lips. 

It’s hard to believe he can just do this now, he thinks as he kisses her, sliding his hand up her waist. She pulls away and peppers sweet kisses onto his lips. It almost looks like she’s glowing, a golden tint to her. It makes him happy. He is truly, deeply happy, possibly like he’s never been before. 

“So,” he says inbetween kisses, “We should probably talk about this.” It’s ironic that he’d be the one suggesting this seeing as opening up doesn’t come easily to him, but he doesn’t wanna make the same mistakes all over again. Harvey is a firm believer of fixing what’s broken so that the machine can work better. And whatever compelled him to come over last night is still running in his veins, urging him to be honest. 

She groans in mock disapproval. “No talking, just this,” she whines as she sucks on his neck and yeah, okay, maybe they don’t actually need to talk right now. They have time now, after all. “We’re gonna be late for work,” he states teasingly, just for the record. “Okay, then you can start listing which of Robert’s clients we should call first while I work on this thing here real quick,” she responds in a forcedly casual tone as she draws the covers and kisses her way down his sternum, stomach and groin. 

There isn’t much more talk after that. 

**

Sunday night is spent at his place. They saw each other intermitently over the weekend and he usually likes time for himself, space to just do whatever he wants whenever he wants. But with Donna he finds he doesn’t need as much space, at least not for now. He feels this constant desire to talk to her, tell her about his day or comment on something that’s on the TV. He wants to know what she thought of the food and the wine and how she likes to sleep. 

He is decidedly not domestic, he likes going out and doing things and usually prefers looking at women through the dancing lights of a bar than his apartment’s yellow lights. But he likes her here, on his couch. He likes her inhabiting this space that for so long was his and his alone. It makes him feel like he’s parting with the side of him that’s been lonely all these years. 

“I don’t wanna go to work tomorrow,” she complains around a spoon of ice cream, then buries her forehead against the crook of his neck. He chuckles, “Well, if it gets really bad we can always sneak off and fool around in the file room.”

He feels her smile, “Sure. That way if someone sees it we’ll have an even bigger scandal to cover up Robert leaving. It’ll definitely stop all the disbarment talks.”

“Sounds better by the minute,” he chuckles into her hair and presses a kiss to her temple. 

“Why did you let me in?” he suddenly wants to know. He had so many words swimming in his head that night, so much he wanted to say and prove to her. But seeing her worried face made it all go away. The sight of her calmed him at the same time that it washed off all his confidence and assuredness. But, he supposes, that’s how she’s always made him feel: so sure of himself and at the same time not sure of anything at all. 

She pulls away with one playful brow up, “Are you trying to get me to say how hot you look in that suit?” He smirks, though it feels a little watered down by his suddenly budding nerves. He wants to hear her say it, wants to know she thinks he’s worth the whole ordeal. 

She readjusts on the couch and seems to consider his question for a moment. “I wanted to remember what it felt like. And you looked ready,” she answers somewhat cryptically. It’s fitting that she should say that, because that’s exactly how he feels. 

“I am. And I know it took me a while but-“ “Look,” she cuts him off gently, “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now, it’s fine. Let’s just enjoy this.” She tilts her head and smiles sweetly, and he thinks the slight twinge of disappointment he feels is just the impulse inherent to being thrown off course, because her words are bright and she is right. Maybe it really doesn’t matter. Maybe all that matters is this. 

He grabs hold of her waist as she goes up on her knees and cups his jaw to kiss him, and tries not to pay any attention to the very tiny, very shy rejection simmering in his belly. 

**

Waking up next to her is simultaneously the most surreal and the most natural thing in the world. 

He’s often been late to work, but he’s a morning person, has always liked waking up early and starting his day with a punch. And Donna is usually early, normally already prim and proper in her office when he arrives. 

So it’s a delightful surprise to him that she’s almost always the one to rise later, more often than not slightly sleepily grumpy. She likes lying lazily in bed for a long time before getting up, watching the sun rays dancing on her ceiling or mindlessly scrolling through her phone. 

He loves watching her, seeing her stretch or grin silently at something she sees on Instagram. He spent over a decade being able to see her across from his desk whenever he wanted - they often engaged in unspoken conversations through the glass of his office just by sharing looks. Now he can’t see her as much at work anymore, so it’s a whole new thing to be able to see her here like this, unguarded and fresh. 

He feels incredibly lucky to be let in by her, to be allowed into her routine and her domesticity. He never thought he’d like it, but he does, a lot. It feels like a new layer of knowledge about her, something he could only conjecture about until now. 

He wants to tell people at work, wants to call Mike about it. He wants to make this as much a regular relationship as possible, because if there was ever someone he’d be able to make it with, it’s her. She’s always been his only true choice, he just hadn’t realized it until now. 

Lying in her bed, watching her burgundy nails hop around the screen of her phone, he finds it hard to believe how long it took him to figure this out. Every breakup, every forgettable one night stand or moment spent alone and lonely combined to get him here, to make him ready. 

He wants to tell everyone he is hers because he wants the world to hold him accountable for his actions. He wants everyone watching so he never forgets to be extra careful with her because he has never cared as much about making it work as he does with her. 

And the best part is that it’s not tacky; he doesn’t think of her all day, she doesn’t leave him sugary notes, they don’t make promises they know they can’t keep. In fact, outside of their respective homes, barely anything has changed. Despite the jokes, they don’t do anything in the office, no one even knows they’re together. 

He wanted to tell them. He feels like he owes it at least to Louis. But she asked him not to. “I want us to have this just for ourselves just a little bit longer,” she said the day he suggested it, “Just a little more time for us to do whatever we want however we want, before we let the rest of the world in.”

Any concept of having her all to himself feels extremely attractive, so he conceded. It’s a good thing, not having to answer to anyone else for now. That way he can reach over, pull her to him and drown in her laughter as he makes them late, and no one will throw them sideway glances or wonder anything filthy. Donna can say she was at an early morning meeting and he’ll be just as late as usual, and everything will be as it always was. 

**

It’s their one month mark. He didn’t mean to keep track of if, but it’s not easy to forget the date you almost got disbarred. And since they happened on that same day, he knows it. 

It’s virtually unheard of for him, absolutely not something he remotely cares about. But a month feels like enough time to be a landmark. Less than a month and any thing is still unstable, still crawling. After a month you can actually call it a _thing_. You can name it and celebrate it. You can believe it’s actually there. 

He’s been with others for longer, obviously - Zoe, Scottie, Paula, Laura, Scarlet. But it was never this intense and it was never love. He’s slept next to her almost every one of the past thirty days, he got intimate with her apartment, her kitchen cabinets. She already knew everything about his own place but now she navigates it with ease, has a sense of ownership she didn’t have before. His shirts rest in her drawers now because they can. 

Of course, he doesn’t mention anything, doesn’t do anything frilly, doesn’t want to be out of character or mistaken for someone who makes a fuss about silly social norms. But he does want to mark it somehow. 

“Hey, I was wondering,” he prompts over wine on her couch, browsing for something to watch on Netflix, “Maybe we could go over to my mom’s on the weekend? If you have no other plans.”

Her finger hovers over the remote control, though she’s still looking at the TV. “Oh, uh, this weekend?” “Yeah,” he shrugs a shoulder, “Or the next one, if you’re busy.”

“Uhm,” she starts and his stomach drops a little as her hand resumes its task, “That’s a pretty big move.” “You’ve been wanting to meet my mom for years,” he counters, suspicion rising up his throat. “I know, but it’s different now. Now we’re...” she argues, voice casual - maybe too casual?

“Together,” he finishes for her, because apparently she didn’t know to end that sentence. It stings that she’s not treating this with the magnitude it deserves. Or maybe he’s being dramatic? He’s not used to this, taking girlfriends to meet his family. Scottie ran into Marcus once and Paula and his mother were that well-known fiasco. 

“Yeah,” she shrugs noncommittally, and he feels kind of self-conscious. “I mean,” he scratches his arm, “It’s not like we just met. And she’s asked about you a few times already.”

“It just... feels a bit soon, I guess,” her arm drops heavily onto the couch, Netflix apparently forgotten even though she still won’t look at him. “Donna, it’s been a month. _After_ the fourteen years,” he says, and he’s trying not to sound frustrated but... he is. 

He thought she wanted this, that she was all in just like him. But, thinking back on it, she’s been hesitant about taking any next steps since their first morning together. If she’s not sure, then what are they doing? 

She said she wanted to remember what it felt like for them to be together, and at the time it made sense to him. But now it has him thinking this might have been just about getting it out of her system, and the mere thought of it makes humiliation burn in his cheeks. 

“Harvey, it’s...” she sighs defeatedly, “Maybe we should just take it slow, see where this goes.” “Do you even want to take it anywhere at all?” he asks, wounded, voice showing his disappointment. At this she finally turns to him, eyes slightly wider as if she’s surprised by his words. 

He wasn’t planning on bringing it up, hadn’t even really noticed there was anything tobring up, but now the cat’s out of the bag whether he wants it or not and he feels strangely lighter. 

“I’m not _breaking up _with you, if that’s what you’re implying,” she states, voice somewhere in the middle between defensive and reassuring. “Is there anything _to_ break up?” he insists. She frowns in disbelief, “You think there isn’t?” “_I_ don’t. I want this, Donna, I really do. But every time I try to tell you that you retreat back into this... hiding place,” he sets his glass down on her coffee table and ruffles his hair, elbows coming to rest on his knees. 

“You seem much more interested in just hooking up,” he continues, “And don’t get me wrong, I love that too. But for once I wanna do it right. So if that’s not what _you_ want, I need to know.”

He remembers being on the receiving end of this kind of talk more times than he’d like and some corner of his brain finds it comical how the roles have swapped. But he gets it now. This can’t be one-sided, he needs to hear her say it. 

She takes a deep breath and presses her lips together, eyes full of sorrow. He gets a chill, a gloomy feeling about what’s to come. He straightens his shoulders in preparation. 

“That _is_ what I want, Harvey,” she starts, and her words are positive but her tone brings him no comfort at all, “I’m just... scared.” His brows crease sadly, “Donna, I understand-“

“No, you don’t understand,” she shakes her head and he thinks he hears a hint of a waver in her voice. “I’ve been waiting for this for at least the past ten years, at times more than I’ve ever wanted anything else. And throughout those years I’ve seen you go through endless women, some with whom you tried but didn’t care enough to make it work, some whose names you didn’t even remember the next day.”

Her words slap him in the face. She’s right, he knows she’s right and he’s at least had the decency to spend his adulthood feeling ashamed of that. But it’s low. She knows she’s not the others, she knows with her it’s different, with her it’s real. She _knows_ that, and it stings that she’d actively use his troubled history in this front against him. 

“So you don’t trust me?” he throws back at her, self-righteousness coursing through his veins, because the one thing he’s never been able to take from her is this doubt. How can she not see this? How can she not see how real this is?

“I do, Harvey, I know you want this,” her head tilts slightly, voice taking on a more tender note, “I just... need to be sure you actually _can_ be in a relationship. There’s nothing wrong with you, it’s not for everyone. But I can’t... dive in unless I know you’re diving with me.”

“I thought that much was clear,” he lets out a mirthless huff of laughter and stands up. He suddenly feels like going home - alone, for practically one of the first times in the last month - and just sleeping it off. He feels humiliated, belittled, not by her per se, but by her surprising willingness to throw his own shame back at him. He feels questioned about the one thing he couldn’t be more sure about, after all this time. 

“Harvey-“ she reaches for him, tries to soothe him or maybe convince him to sit back down and agree to go back to Netflix as if nothing’d happened. “Donna, I’ve been trying to tell you _exactly_ that, but by some cosmic joke it’s you who’s running away this time,” he replies instead, looking down into her wide eyes. 

“I can’t guarantee I’ll never screw up, but I _can_ guarantee I’ll always try my best not to. If that’s not enough for you, then I don’t know what to tell you,” he finishes and despite his hard tone his chest constricts. This feels like an end, before they even got a chance to really start. 

“Harvey-“ she tries again, pleading, though she doesn’t take any of it back - and he guesses it’s just as well; at least now he knows how she feels. He doesn’t reply, just turns around, grabs his jacket and sees himself out. 

The whole way home her words ring in his ears. She’s always been his life vest, but just when he needed her support the most, she feels much more like an anchor, holding them down and keeping them from going forward. 

**

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her until he heard her voice on the phone asking to come over. It’s only been two days since their conversation, but he didn’t see her at the office and their last encounter left things kind of off between them. He feels ridiculously cheesy and foolish for being relieved to see her face when he opens the door but eh, denying it doesn’t make it any less true. 

She presses her lips together in lieu of a smile and he doesn’t know what to make of it, so he just lets her in and gets them water and shots of whiskey, regardless of whether she wants it. The conversation will either be fireworks in his chest or a punch to his gut, and he’d rather be prepared in case it’s the latter. 

She sits on the couch and rearranges the glasses in front of her, seemingly gathering her thoughts. He chooses not to share the couch, instead sitting on the chair across from her. He leans back and crosses his leg expectantly. If she’s not opening up, neither is he. 

Suddenly Donna exhales, closes her eyes and shakes her head, seemingly frustrated at him before he’s even said anything. “Look, just hear me out before you say anything, okay?” she starts, which is totally the kind of warning you get before someone gives you great news. He takes a breath and sips his water, bracing for the burn of her words and the whisky that’s sure to follow. 

“None of this - literally none of it - is to say that I don’t trust you, or that I don’t want this,” she starts, cautious. “I can’t even describe how happy I was when I saw you at my door, or how relieved I felt every time we kissed that night.” Affection tingles in his chest, the memories of their start flooding his senses for a moment. Still, her voice makes him uneasy, as if she’s trying to calm him before she says something she knows he won’t like. 

It’s crazy to him that this is where they’re at, when he still feels on his skin the tracks her nails left, when he remembers exactly how he felt when she stepped back into her apartment, that sly little smirk on her lips, just a month ago. 

“I guess I just... I’m just wondering if you’re actually thinking about what this all means. I know I’m not some random chick you picked up at a bar, but...” she sighs, “I don’t want to get hurt.” The last bit is quiet, and she sounds ashamed. 

He _has_ wondered what this really means. For years he’s wondered what his relationship with Donna means; to her, to him, he’s wondered about this to the brink of madness at times. But for once he is absolutely, irrevocably sure of what he wants. 

He wants _her_. All of her, all of it, everything. He’s never given marriage a serious consideration beyond societal expectations, but she’s as close as he’s ever come. He knows he can’t speak for eternity, but for the foreseeable future he knows he wants this, and he can’t imagine not wanting it. 

But he’s not blind to the fact that he’s hurt her before, both knowingly and unknowingly. And this is the craziest risk he’s ever taken, the highest-stakes bet he’s ever made. Losing her is losing everything, he’s sure of it. And he senses it’s more or less like that for her too, after so many years of them dancing around each other. 

He doesn’t wanna screw up and will do everything in his power not to. He finally feels ready for this. But he can’t do it if she’s gonna doubt his abilities along the way. He needs her to trust him, not only his intentions but his actual judgment. Her doubting him has never worked for them. 

“What will it take for you to believe I can actually do this?” he crosses his arms and the words come out more tired han he means them to, but a part of him wants her to know he’s hurt by her reluctance. 

She looks at him, really looks. Her face is sad and yet she still looks so beautiful. It’s no wonder to him why he enjoyed having her in front of his office; seeing her has always given him extraordinary comfort, and this time - somewhat surprisingly - it’s no different. 

“Why did you come over?” is what she goes for, and he knows she knows why but he also knows she wants to hear him say it, which is a fair point. 

“Because I love you, Donna. And because I want everything,” he explains, and it doesn’t even feel colossal to say it, even though he’s never said it to anyone else before. It’s just such a consolidated notion inside of him now that it’s as easy as saying any one of his usual lines. She blinks a few times, presumably surprised by his calm tone and straightforward answer. 

“And why that night?” she continues. “Because I almost got disbarred,” he shrugs helplessly, “and because _not_ getting disbarred felt shitty. And because that whole day, before the hearing, throughout my testimony, afterwards, I just wanted to see you.”

At this she looks down, and he knows she feels bad for not attending the hearing but he honestly understands why she did it. It was such a huge mess and her not being there was of no consequence to his case or their friendship. It just served to show him what he’d been thinking about for weeks; that nothing was as meaningful without her, not even dodging the biggest bullet of his life. 

“I told you, I _wanna_ talk about this,” he relents, voice softening as he uncrosses his legs and rests his elbows on his knees, “I don’t get why _you_ don’t.”

She takes a breath and looks at him again, eyes seeming slightly less worried. “I do, I just... I guess I was scared that talking about it would make it real. And it being real meant I wouldn’t be able to take it all back if you suddenly decided you didn’t want this anymore.”

He knows where she’s coming from, but it’s still painful to hear. “You really think I’d do that,” he says, somewhere between a question and a statement. “Apparently not,” she replies, and her lips stretch in a shy little smile. It’s the first time she’s smiled in a few days and the sight makes him so incredibly happy it’s hard to see the point of this conversation when all the answers are so clear inside of him. 

“You really want this,” she states finally, softly, almost in wonder. “I _really_ do,” he smiles a little in return, “But you thinking I can’t do it makes me question it too.” He’s careful to be gentle, to explain to her what he means instead of just lashing out, and it seems to work. 

They stare at each other for a moment in silence, just looking into each other’s eyes. He waits patiently, lets her find whatever she’s searching for. 

“Alright,” she says once she’s satisfied, and her eyes take on her characteristic mischievous glint, “If you’re saying you’ll really try-“

“I will,” he reassures her and his smile broadens. “Then okay,” she half-whispers, and the boyish glee he’s feeling must be evident in his face because she smiles at him. “We’re okay?” he repeats, mostly to convince himself. 

Her expression softens. “I love you. I’m...” she shrugs one shoulder, “in love with you. Is this what you wanted to talk about?”

He knows she’s teasing him but he honestly thinks he might have never been this happy in his life. It’s not the first time she’s said it, but it’s the first time it’s felt this good (and the first time it hasn’t given him a panic attack). It’s the first time anything has felt this good, and there’s this excited energy in his chest like he’s having a sugar rush. He feels invincible. 

“That’s exactly what I wanted to talk about,” he smirks at her. She rolls her eyes at his cockiness but grins anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song Love Is Mystical by Cold War Kids.
> 
> This fic exists as a sort of parallel universe to It’s either hell or high water and The power to believe again, as different versions of what could have happened that night. I was particularly interested in exploring what it would look like if Donna got insecure about Harvey’s commitment to a future together.


End file.
